The Picture Beside Her Bed
by BobSince1934
Summary: Tragedy strikes for Tegan and Sara and their family.


How they shimmered, how they glimmered those golden eyes, my golden eyes. Though they weren't golden now. They were black, pure black, blacker than the midnight sky, and I'm sure my eyes mirrored the same.

"You two are so different. You may be twins, but you look so different," Sonia observed. "Your cheek bones, your noses, everything except your eyes really. They're exactly the same. If you two had been born a pair of eyes, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you." We just laughed. Our mother's personification of giving birth to just a pair of eyes seemed silly to think of as five year olds.

And I was glad that the only thing we had in common was our eyes. When you're a twin there's a certain need to be independent that is never quite fulfilled. No matter how hard you work to be your own person, no matter how different your personalities are, you still share the same DNA and no one would let you live it down.

But maybe being a twin hadn't really been so bad. I had spent thirty years hating it and hating myself. I had never really taken any time to figure out the benefits of it. I was too concerned with how I couldn't be my own person when the fact that there was two of me was what had made me so unique al along. I should have appreciated her, us, everything we had. If I could go back, I would do everything in my power to be the twin I never was. There's no shame in embracing the similarities. Too bad I realized this too late.

And now our only similarity, our eyes, would never be the same again. Her eyes were cold, dead and mine were too, but there's a certain life portrayed in the eyes that can never be taken away until life itself has been taken away, and my eyes continued to show this. Hers didn't. My eyes flicked across her face from her eyes to her nose to her lips to the thin white tarp covering the rest of her body. Her eyes didn't move a fraction of an inch. They couldn't.

"Ma'am," the coroner started, but he had been completely blocked out of my world. The only thin gin the world that held any of my attention was the lifeless body of my twin sister in front of me.

She was so pale. We were pasty by nature, but I had never seen her this pale before. Her skin was practically transparent. I could see the veins under her eyes and I longed for them to twitch, throb, palpitate, anything to show some kind of life. I wanted them to work and restore blood and color to my sister's face. Tegan would never want anyone to see her like this.

"I know this must be difficult," the coroner started. "But we really need to know, ma'am. Is this her?"

"Yes," I managed to choke out, though my voice box felt as dead as Tegan's. "It's her."

"Thank you ma'am." The coroner began to lift the tarp further up, shrouding Tegan's face.

"Wait!" I protested. "Can I just see her? Just for another moment?"

"Of course," the coroner agreed, used to how traumatized most of the people who pass through his office become. He left the room to give us - me - some alone time.

I pulled the tarp down again, shocked to tears from seeing her dead face for a second time. Those eyes. They were killing me. Looking like a deer in headlights in death was not the most dignified thing. I gently closed her eyelids. She was cold to the touch just like you would imagine a dead body to be, but I couldn't really think of her as a dead body. She was still Tegan to me and I was in denial that there was any possible way she could be dead. How could I be alive when she wasn't? We came into the world together, shouldn't we leave it that way? It didn't make sense. I could almost convince myself that she wasn't actually dead. She looked so innocent, as if she had just fallen asleep under a cheap hotel sheet. I'd seen this many times before and it looked almost identical to the scene before me. If only she were Snow White and I the prince . . . I leaned down and gently placed my lips against hers, spilling tears onto her cheek as I did so. Now it looked as if she had been crying too. But unlike Snow White she didn't wake up.

The coroner came back in, telling me it was time to leave, but I couldn't bring myself to actually leave until he completely re-covered Tegan's body and placed her back inside his own personal mausoleum.

What exactly are you supposed to do after you find out your sister's been killed in a car accident? Where do you go? It's not like you can continue with your daily routine as if nothing has happened. It's not like you can just go home and forget about it. But this is basically what I tried to do. There was no place else to go but back to my new apartment dangerously closed to Tegan's, but I couldn't forget her. No matter how hard I tried she never left my mind for even a second.

My sister was dead. What now?

When you're off in your own little world, no matter how sad and pathetic it may be, the last thing you want is a dose of reality. All it does ids make you more depressed, anxious, confused, and a big dose of reality is what hit me when I heard the phone ringing. I wasn't stable enough to answer it and there wasn't anyone I particularly wanted to talk to right now except for maybe Tegan. It was my mother of all people. She left a message.

"Hi, honey. I just called to say hi. It's been a while since we've talked. How are you settling in to your new apartment? Anyway, call me when you get the chance. I love you. Bye!"

So no one had told her the bad news yet. Why would they inform a sibling before a parent? Why did I have to find out about this at all? If only it had been kept hidden from me instead of our mother . . .

The bathroom seemed like the safest place in the house. It was cold, dull and as sanitary as the tiny room Tegan was shoved into now. I slumped against the bath tub but the cool tile felt so good against my skin that I pushed the rug out of the way and fully laid down. I stared at the ceiling for a while, memorizing its cracks and water stains. I laid there for at least an hour before getting up. I splashed my face with water and looked into the mirror. I saw Tegan, but Tegan was dead. I dried my face with a hand towl and looked in the mirror again. I saw myself, but I was dead too.

I had half a bottle of Vicodin left from when I had my last root canal. I had no idea why I had kept it in the cabinet all this time, but I didn't question my reason as I emptied the rest of the bottle into my open palm, poured myself a glass of water and swallowed all of them at once.

"See you soon, Tee."

~Sonia~

I was delighted when the phone rang and I recognized the Vancouver area code. It was most likely Sara calling from her new number. Why she had decided to move to Vancouver, I didn't know. Maybe she wanted to be closer to her sister and the rest of the band, or maybe she just got tired of living in a French-speaking province. The decision didn't bother me, it just meant that I could visit both of them at the same time, although I hadn't gotten around to doing so yet.

As I answered the phone I was surprised to hear a man's voice. "Hello, Mrs. Quin. I'm calling from the Vancouver General Hospital. Your daughter Sara was admitted last night." My face immediately flushed. "You may want to get down here."

Words were out of my grasph. All I could do was call the airport and book the first flight to Vancouver.

It had been too late, the doctors told me. The paramedics hadn't arrived on the scene in time and my youngest daughter, my sweet Sara, had been pronounced dead on the scene. Suicide, they told me, although I couldn't believe Sara would commit such an act. But ther had been no doubt for these strangers. She had overdosed on at least 15 Vicodin. The whole bottle was empty, but I still requested an autopsy, just to make sure.

After some pleading they finally let me see her body, but as soon as they showed her to me I regretted it. No mother should have to see their child dead. It's a fate worse than death itself because when your child dies a part of you dies too and you never get it back.

"This must be incredibly hard for you," the coroner said. "Losing two daughters in one week."

"What?" My eyes widened. Surely he had mistaken me for someone else.

"Twins, weren't they? This one was just in here yesterday for her sister."

"What are you talking about?"

His face flushed. "Did you not know?" He pulled another body out of the wall. He looked at the chart to double check the name. "Tegan's here too."

The moment I saw my eldest daughter's body lifeless next to my youngest, I passed out.

I woke up on a gurney confused and disoriented. "Where am I?"

A young-ish doctor with short brown hair and five-o'clock shadow was the only person in the room with me. "You passed out Mrs. Quin."

I almsot scolded him for calling me that, informing him that "Quin" was no longer my last name, but before I could I remembered where I was and why I was here. "My babies!" I sobbed.

He tried to comfort me by patting me on the back and saying some nonsense about "I know it's tough, but . . ." I shoved him away. He knew nothing about how I felt. Neither I nor my children meant anything to him. He experience it every day and had developed a cold, clinical tollerance to death. But at least he was nice enough to let me stay there and cry until I was strong enough to pick myself up and leave the desolate institution behind.

My flight back to Calgary wasn't for another week. No one told me that everyone was dead. I thought that maybe there had just been some minor complication. It wasn't uncommon for Sara to work herself to the point of exhaustion. With the added stress of moving to a new city there may have been enough concern to check herself into the hospital. But suicide? Nothing was extreme enough for that. Sara loved life. She was always an eager child. Had Tegan's death contributed to it? This was all too much for me to handle.

I planned on staying in a hotel, maybe spending a few nights at the hospital if Sara really needed me, but Staying with Tegan was what I had really wanted to do. Staying with family is always best for me. Everyone lives so far away. I never get to see them, and not to mention it saves me a few bucks. But with Tegan gone too all I wanted to do was go home. I tried to change my flight. I called the airport, but no flights from Vancouver to Calgary would be available until next weekend. I explained how I just needed my ticket change, but the operator said they were backed up so much that not even a single seat was available. No matter how hard it will be for me, I'm going to have to stay at Tegan's apartment. Staying in a cold hotel in an unknown city would be even harder.

I had a key, but I never thought I'd use it until now. I'm almost afraid to open the door. I've not the slightest idea of how it will be even though I've been here before. Summoning my courage, I was finally able to push open the door. Everything looked exactly the same. Tegan was always messy as a child and on my last visit when I'd come and found everything organized and spotless, I'd figured she'd spent hours cleaning and preparing for my arrival, but everything was just as clean now as it had been then. Organization was just another skill my daughters had learned later in life that I'd failed to notice.

But something was different. it was too . . . quiet. There was no tea brewing on the stove, no hum of a laptop, no plucking of guitar strings. It didn't have that homey feel. (With no one occupying it the only feel it could have was that of a drug den. But that had nothing to do with Tegan. The whole apartment building was obviously a druggie hang-out. I had to walk over two men passed out in the hall just to get here. Why Sara had also chosen to move to the same building, I'll never understand.)

It was strange to be here without Tegan's permission. I felt like an intruder. But I had to be here. It would e my responsibility to get all of her things. It was better to keep myself occupied right now. Still it felt creepy rummaging through her stuff. It felt like snooping which was something I had promised myself never to do to my children.

This was so wrong. Tegan had no will. She hadn't planned for this to happen. Her house had every sign of someone who planned on returning. There was a pack of Ramen on the counter, clearly dinner. There was a set of clothes hanging on the door in preparation for the next day. Even her guitars seemed to look like they had braced themselves, like they were ready to be played by expert fingers at any given moment.

The few knickknacks Tegan had I recognized. They had been gifts, some from me, some from other family, some she's had since she was a kid, remaining with her only for their sentimental value.

My most interesting discovery was a small box under her bed. It was a simple, ordinary, cardboard box, but it contained just as much treasure as a buried chest. There were notebooks inside. Each was filled with scribbled song lyrics. I recognized some as I flipped through them, others were unfamiliar, discarded or maybe even new. It stung to think of all the songs that would never be finished, written, or played again. Much more than just my daughters had died.

But the other contents of the box were far more interesting than the notebooks. There was a stack of letters, at least thirty of them. All of them were sent from either Vancouver to Montreal or vice versa, from Tegan to Sara or Sara to Tegan. Despite my privacy restrictions, curiosity got the best of me. I couldn't resist reading a few.

_"Hey, Sara. I've had a lot on my mind lately. I thought it might be best to write to you. It's not like an email. There's no backspace button, once the words are in print it can't be erased. I'm still trying to figure everything out, but for right now I just wanted you to know that I miss you. A lot."_

_"I like the idea of formal lettering. It's almost like talking; you can't hold back all the word vomit, and God knows I have no control over that! I miss you too. It's only been two weeks since I've seen you last, but it feels longer. Every moment without you is more difficult and hurts more than anything I've done before. I'm starting to wish I hadn't left Vancouver. It's just as cold here. I wish you were here to keep me warm. We got over a foot of snow today. I only hope that the post office isn't shut down and you get this letter soon. Maybe I should write more next time in case it is a few weeks before this gets to you."_

The letters got a lot longer after that. I skimmed through them.

_"I couldn't help but grin as I got your letter. I wasn't sure if you would write back or not. - Vancouver's pretty dreary without you. - When are you coming to visit?"_

_"I'll visit soon, Tee. I promise. I'm waiting to see if Mom's coming. She said she might."_

I had never gotten a chance to.

_"How's Lindsey? - Have you written any new songs?" _The last sentence said, _"You know you can trust me Tee."_ It was signed, _"Don't be afraid, Sara."_

_"I have to be afraid. I have to be very afraid. Lindsey's here. She's with me, and I'm scared because I don't think I care anymore. I don't know why you do this to me. I don't want to hurt her . . ."_

_"She's good for you. Be happy."_

_"How can I be happy when you're not here? - She's gone. I scared her off." _This particular page of yellowed parchment was puckered and tear-stained.

_"I'm so sorry, Tee."_

_"I need you here. Come to Vancouver."_

The last words lf the last letter were, _"I'm coming." _It was signed, _"See you soon, Sara."_

If the words meant what I thought they did - and I was pretty sure they did - then . . . I didn't know how to rect. I can't say it was the most surprising news, but it changed things. It changed everything. I took another look around Tegan's empty room. It had always been like this, but part of me questioned if the emptiness was due to her spending more time in Sara's apartment. I was afraid to find out which complex was Sara's. I was afraid of what I would find, what I would see.

I began placing each letter back into its correct signed, sealed, and stamped envelope. I organized the stack chronologically, the oldest going on the bottom. They were going back in the box, right where I had found of both Tegan and Sara's privacy, and I didn't feel right violating it, even if they were . . . dead. A knot formed in my throat.

But there was something else at the bottom of the box. It was a small but heavy, expensive picture frame, but the picture inside it was far more special. It was a recent photo. My daughters stared back at me, giant smiles plastered on both their faces. My eldest was no doubt holding the camera, convinced dating a photographer had made her more qualified to take the picture than her younger counterpart. It was a close up shot. Tegan had pushed her hair away from her face and the glowing joy could be seeing in all of her features, but especially in her golden eyes. Those eyes. Sara held her eyes open too, but they weren't as visible. She had her head cocked, face towards her sister's, lips pressed to her cheek. The small glint visible in her eye suggested that she might even been happier than her sister, just not as easy to show it.

This photo didn't belong in an old, dusty shoe-box. The picture had more dignity than Tegan was giving it. _Tegan _had more dignity than that. To hid your life in a shoebox . . . I felt bad for letting her be so ashamed of herself. I blamed myself. I had taught her to love herself, and the fact that she felt the need to hide something this big made me feel like I had failed in raising my daughters. I blamed myself for her not even being able to tell me. This didn't matter to me. It shouldn't matter to anyone. Who cares what anyone thinks? Now they're dead, and they never got to be happy. They never got to live their lives.

I set the frame in my lap and stared at it. At my beautiful daughters. The two people I would love unconditionally until the day I died. This wasn't fair. Nothing was fair anymore. I grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheets. I didn't care that I was messing up the immaculacy of the room. I let my tears fall, staining the cheap fabric of the bed spread.

I was to blame. I was going to fix this. I was going to make things right. I was going to make peace with my daughters, for my daughters, for their souls, resting in calm, safe, happiness in heaven above. I was going to make peace with myself.

And it started with this picture.

Never would I throw such a sacred item into a shoebox to sit and collect dust and build up secrets. That's not where it belonged. Tegan's house, her life, was empty and guilt ridden, ashamed. No one could live like this, even in the afterlife. I would turn her house into a home. I laid the first brick on the foundation, propping the picture on her nightstand.


End file.
